


Flowers for Mother

by winterune



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: F/M, Family, Flowers, Fluff, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Language of Flowers, Mother's Day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24586861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterune/pseuds/winterune
Summary: A fic centering on Zack, Cloud, Aerith, and Tifa, and their relationships with their respective mothers.Chapter 1: ZackIt has been four years since Zack moved to Midgar. When he is having lunch with Aerith and her mother, he is reminded of his home and his parents.Chapter 2: CloudMother's Day is tomorrow and Tifa invites Cloud to gather some flowers from the mountain.
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife, Zack Fair/Aerith Gainsborough
Comments: 18
Kudos: 48





	1. Yellow Flowers of Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Mother's Day fic I have had for a month now but haven't been able to finish until now. It's not much but I had fun delving into Zack's thoughts and feelings about his hometown and parents.
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)

It was a spring morning when Zack was sitting on one of the church’s benches, watching Aerith tend to her flower bed. He had sneaked out of morning practice. Thinking he had been making good progress with no one noticing his absence, he almost jumped when his phone beeped just as he reached the sector 5 slums, and he realized that was not the case at all.

_Right. Go and have your little date with Aerith. I_ _’ll just be here covering your ass._

Zack couldn’t help the snicker. He could just imagine the frown and resigned sigh on Kunsel’s face. Of course, his friend would have figured out where Zack had disappeared to since early in the morning. Even when he hadn’t even told him about Aerith, Kunsel had somehow known that Zack was seeing a girl. _Actually_ seeing one. 

Anyway, Zack would have to treat his friend to lunch later. He silently promised Kunsel that as he made his way to the Sector 5 Slum’s church.

It _had_ been too early—Aerith hadn’t even gotten to the church yet by the time Zack arrived. So he stood there, looking around, walking around, sat on the bench then crouched by the flower bed. No matter how many times he had been here, he was still amazed real flowers could bloom in a place as barren as Midgar. A miracle. It shouldn’t be odd then, should it, that he had thought of her as an angel when he fell down through the hole in the roof of her church?

Zack stroked his finger down the soft petals of the yellow flowers, a small smile playing across his lips. Where _was_ Aerith? What if he made a surprise visit to her home instead?

Zack jumped up to his feet, the thought of the surprise lining Aerith’s lovely face filling him with glee, when he realized he didn’t know where the girl’s home was.

The thought had barely crossed his mind when the sound of heavy creaking against the wooden floor drew at his attention. Zack looked up to see the double doors slowly opening and Aerith slipped through them, her light blue dress swaying around her. She stopped short when she spotted him. Even in this distance, he could make out the slight widening of her eyes and her mouth opening in a silent gasp.

Well, he didn’t get to see Aerith’s home, but he did get to see Aerith’s surprise. Zack’s lips broke into a huge grin, his hand flying up in an encompassing wave, and her name rolling off his tongue before he could think.

“Ah, right!” Aerith’s sudden outburst broke through his reverie. When Zack looked, she was already looking up at him from her spot by the flowers. “My mom’s inviting you for lunch.”

Zack blinked. “Your…mom?”

Aerith nodded with a smile on her face. “I know you’re busy, and I told her you might not make it, but she still said you should come whenever you can, so…” Aerith let her voice trail off. He noticed the anticipation in her eyes, but Zack’s brain couldn’t quite catch up. He was dumbfounded that Aerith’s mom knew about his existence.

“You’ve…told your mom about me?”

Aerith nodded.

Zack blinked again, and again, letting it slowly register that yes, her mom knew about him. When it finally did, he bit his lower lip, trying to hold back the smile threatening to break free. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He wanted to jump and dance and pick her up and swing her around. But Zack remained on the bench, finding his gaze fixated on a bit of a crack on the floor by his feet.

“So, can you or can you not make it?”

Zack cleared his throat and took a deep calming breath. “Today?”

“Yes, today.” A hint of exasperation in her voice but all he wanted was to smile. Good thing he had most of the day off. Treating Kunsel to lunch would have to wait for a while longer.

“Sure, I can make it,” he finally replied, and when he met her gaze again, Aerith smiled so sweetly, her eyes crinkling in the process, and he thought he was probably the luckiest guy in the world right now.

* * *

Her house wasn’t hard to find, actually. Even if he had gotten lost, Aerith seemed to be quite well-known among her people that if he were to ask for direction, they would probably tell him. Though on the other hand, him dressed as a SOLDIER operative might prompt them to give him false information—judging from the side eyes he had received from some of them. 

Past the train station and into the Sector 5 Slums, through various shops and rundown, densely packed neighborhood, they entered the grassy area between an orphanage and a community center that led to a winding tunnel-of-sort and opened up to the most beautiful scenery Zack had ever witnessed in the entire metropolitan steel city. So much sun; so much greenery. A huge clearing within a wall of rocky outcroppings. Water fell down the face of the cliff on the other side into a stream between a cute little cottage and what seemed to be Aerith’s own personal flower garden.

If he were to describe the place in one word, it would be vibrant.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Aerith asked with a coy smile and a glance up at him.

It was, to the point that it made him speechless with awe. He could only reply with a nod. Aerith giggled at his loss for words.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing his arm and leading him down the short flight of wooden stairs into a small riverbank with makeshift wooden bridges on either side. To his right was the garden beyond, with a plethora of reds and yellows and greens and oranges dotting the vast winding yard as far as his eye could see. Aerith led him to the left, past a mailbox and over the rickety bridge. The water beneath was so clean, and so clear, with water lily leaves scattered on the surface and schools of fish swimming underneath it.

They reached the stone pavement beyond, where rocks were stacked on either side to create more flower beds. Zack spotted roses and daisies and marigolds and even cattails among others. A mixture of various sweet scents teased his nostrils.

When was the last time he was in a place like this? So calm and peaceful and serene. Far from the hustle and bustle of city life on the upper plate, where smoke from factories and vehicle exhaust coiled the atmosphere. It reminded him of his home.

Aerith opened the cottage door and Zack was immediately greeted by the rich smell of stew boiling in the kitchen. He adjusted his eyes to the slight dimness and found himself in circular dining room that probably also served as a living room, with a singular round table and four wooden chairs around it. More flowers lined the walls, in vases or baskets, on tables and cabinets. A small CRT TV nestled in one corner. A staircase led up to a second floor.

“I’m home!” Aerith called.

A reply came from his right, where a woman in a green dress and an apron was stirring the pot of stew on a stove. “Welcome home, Aerith.” She looked over her shoulder with a smile. Her gaze flitted over to Zack and the smile bloomed into a beam. “And you must be Zack.”

To be honest, whenever he had the time to let his mind wander, Zack had conjured countless scenarios of meeting Aerith’s parents in his head. He had wondered what her house looked like, and how her parents would receive him, whether they would accept him or reject him, and what he would do were that to happen.

To be honest, Zack had never thought her mother would be the first one to invite him for lunch.

Zack hastily bowed his head. “I’m Zack,” he said with a light flush to his cheeks. “Thank you for inviting me over.”

He was rewarded with a soft chuckle. Aerith’s mother wiped her hands on her apron as she turned to face him and stepped out of the kitchen area. “Yes, the pleasure’s all mine,” she said. “I’m Elmyra, Aerith’s mother. My daughter’s told me quite a lot about you. I heard how you’ve helped her a lot.”

“Ah, well—” Zack scratched the back of his head with a sheepish grin, “—we help each other a lot I guess. Aerith’s been really kind to me ever since I met her.”

A giggle from his side and he glanced down to find Aerith covering her lips with a finger.

Elmyra smiled. “Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Zack,” she went on. “We’re going to have chicken stew today. Just make yourself at home, okay?”

Zack nodded stiffly.

“And Aerith, you can go ahead and set the table.”

“Okay—”

“I’ll help!”

Aerith was heading for a cabinet on another side of the room when she laughed at his interjection. “Stop being so uptight,” she said. “Just put your sword down and take a seat.”

“But—”

She shushed him with a hiss and Zack had no choice but to back down. He pulled his sword from his back and let it stand against the wall. Aerith gave him an approving nod before making her way to the tableware cabinet.

Zack pursed his lips and resigned himself to follow the mother and daughter. He turned to face the table and took in the small room.

Elmyra had said to make himself at home, but to be honest, it was actually difficult to make himself feel _not_ at home. Aerith’s house had that sort of warm, homey feeling to it. The smell of stew cooking in the kitchen, the tableware cluttering as Aerith pulled them out of its cabinet, and the scent of aging wood mixed in with the various flowers on the tables—they weren’t much, but they did remind him of home. If he shut his eyes, he could just imagine that he was back in Gongaga with his mother cooking in the kitchen while his father worked outside, and as he entered the house, she would turn around with a smile on her face and said, “Welcome home, Zack.”

As Aerith set the table, Zack found his eyes drawn to the set of photographs on a side table by the TV. One was an old photo of a young couple he thought was Elmyra and her husband, smiling in front of the house. The other had probably been taken several years after, and in it was a slightly older Elmyra, holding a little girl around seven or eight, wearing a cute orange shirt with a matching orange skirt, her long brown hair tied to the back. The man from before was nowhere to be found.

“Who gave you permission to look at photos?” her voice piped in from behind him. Aerith bobbed her head around his side and peered into the frame Zack was holding.

“Little Aerith was too cute, I couldn’t resist the temptation,” Zack replied with a grin. “I don’t see your father, though.”

Aerith didn’t answer immediately. She stared at the other photo, her eyes drawn. “He died in the war,” she quietly said.

“Oh—” he caught himself. “I’m sorry—” 

But Aerith only shook her head. “That’s okay,” she replied. She didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t ask anything more, because Elmyra called for them, then, saying their lunch was ready. The smile was back on Aerith’s face, as though Zack hadn’t just broached a sensitive topic. She plucked the photo from his hands and put it back on its place, ushering him to take a seat at the table.

* * *

Three bowls of hot steaming stew lay on the table. Having now sat before one of them, the chicken stock smelled even more overpowering than ever before. The broth was thick with potatoes and carrots and a dash of parsley at the top. The chicken thighs looked crispy. It made his mouth water.

“Dig in,” Elmyra said from her seat across from him.

Zack nodded, grabbed the spoon, and scooped the broth with the potatoes and carrots into his open mouth. The taste exploded inside him—so rich and delicious, the vegetables so soft. It warmed him inside out. Zack didn’t remember the last time he ate something so good and he was smiling before he knew it and had already scooped another spoonful of stew.

“It’s good,” he said. The chicken, especially, was so tender and it seemed to melt in his mouth. “It’s really good.”

The smile on Elmyra’s face was so bright as she looked at him. Then she looked at Aerith and nodded at her daughter to enjoy her meal. They started talking, then—about life in Midgar and Zack’s job as a SOLDIER, about the slums and the people living under the steel sky, about Aerith’s days and the flowers she had tended to—and it made him feel warm. This house and the two people living inside it made him feel a sort of warmth he hadn’t felt in years, and when Elmyra asked her next question, Zack found himself pausing.

“Where are you from, Zack?”

“Gongaga,” he replied.

Elmyra blinked in surprise. “That’s a long way from here.”

Zack chuckled, somewhat self-deprecatingly. “That goes for most of us SOLDIERs. I came here when I was thirteen.” That was barely four years ago—a mere boy from a backwater town who had looked up at the stars and dreamed of becoming a hero.

“Have you ever been back home since you came here?” Elmyra asked again.

Zack shook his head. “We don’t get a lot of time off,” he said.

“Your parents must miss you a lot, then.”

It was a simple, innocent statement, one anyone he’d met on the street would probably have said, but it made Zack go still, because unlike other boys who had left their village with the blessings of their families and townspeople to look for jobs in the big city, Zack had gone in the dead of the night, without a word or a letter to his parents. His hand had stopped midway to his mouth, the stew forgotten.

It had been so long since he had any home-cooked meals. All he ever had since he arrived in Midgar were either the cafeteria food they served in the barrack, rations he got on missions, or, if he were up for a splurge, the various restaurants and bars in the upper plate. He had been too preoccupied with his new life that he had never even thought of his home, or his parents, in the years he had been here.

* * *

“Do you think I should send them something?” Zack asked Aerith once they were out the door.

They had finished their meal and Zack had bowed and thanked Elmyra for having him. He promised to visit some time, but Elmyra just laughed it off and told him not to worry.

“Who?” Aerith asked.

“My parents.” They walked leisurely down the stone pavement toward the bridge at the other end, waiting for the stew to go down his stomach and he was ready to face whatever wrath his friend would unleash upon him once he returned to Headquarters.

“Hmm, well—” Aerith had a finger to her lips, deep in thoughts. Zack’s gaze flitted over to the flowers just as Aerith said, “Why not flowers? It’s going to be Mother’s Day soon, too.”

 _Mother_ _’s Day_. How could he have forgotten about that? In fact, Zack didn’t remember having sent his parents _anything_ in the past four years.

But, flowers were a great idea. His mother loved flowers. And he would write a letter, too. They weren’t much, but they were a start. He’d write them more letters after this.

“And good thing you’ve got someone with a beautiful flower garden such as this,” Aerith went on, beaming as she spread her arms wide to encompass the entirety of her garden. Zack couldn’t help but laugh at it.

“What sort of flowers do you recommend, then?”

“Well, carnations are best for Mother’s Day—” her eyes turned downcast, “—but sadly I don’t have carnations. You can probably find some in the upper plate, though.”

Zack shook his head. They’d gotten past the first bridge, and instead of taking the stairs up on the right that would lead him back to the Slums, he led Aerith through the other bridge toward her personal garden. A patch near the bridge by the water was filled with the very same flowers he saw in her church.

“What about these?” he asked, crouching down by the yellow flowers. “They’re the ones that grow in your church too, right.”

“Good eye, Zack,” Aerith said, crouching down beside him. She caressed the long yellow petals with a smile. “These flowers mean reunion. They’ll be perfect.” Her bright smile was still plastered on her face when she looked up at him, and it made him want to smile back.

* * *

Kunsel _was_ waiting for him in Headquarters with a frown and his arms folded, because Zack had gone out for more than half the day without so much as a notification or any sort of permit and Kunsel had to come up with a half-baked lie whenever someone asked about him. He gave a resigned sigh when Zack promised to buy him lunch, and instead, shifted his focus to the large bouquet of yellow flowers in Zack’s hands.

“Aren’t you supposed to give flowers to the girl and not the other way around?” his friend asked.

“These aren’t for me,” Zack said with a laugh. “They’re for my mom.”

Kunsel stared at him at that, as though he had sprouted two more heads, and Zack laughed. “It’s Mother’s Day,” he said. “Want me to let her know you’re looking for a bouquet too?”

Kunself scoffed. “For one thing, I _know_ it’s Mother’s Day soon and I’ve already prepared something for my mom.”

Zack whistled teasingly.

“For another,” Kunsel went on with a frown, but the frown was only short-lived, and it was replaced by a small smile. “I hope your mom likes it.”

He hadn’t expected Kunsel to say that, and for a split second, Zack was left speechless. Kunsel chuckled, and gave him a pat on the shoulder, before leaving off to who-knew-where. He looked back once, saying, “Don’t forget about that lunch, now!” and disappeared behind a door.

The short quip broke through his trance, and Zack found himself laughing in the empty hall. He had promised. He wouldn’t forget. But now, he would go back to his room, pull out a paper and pen, and write his parents a letter. An apology for leaving town so suddenly and for worrying them, because he wanted to become a SOLDIER so bad, he hadn’t thought his actions through. He hoped his parents were all right, and he wished for their safety and health.

 _Happy Mother_ _’s Day_ , he wrote. His pen paused over the paper, biting his lip. But the sight of the yellow flowers beside him brought his mind back to that afternoon in the flower garden where she smiled her bright smile as her green eyes met his. The smile blooming on his face was so instantaneous and instinctive and he saw no problem writing it down.

_P.S. I have a girlfriend._

**~ END ~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :) I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Cloud, Aerith, and Tifa's are still in the works. Hopefully, I will be able to write and finish them :)


	2. Poppies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mother's Day is tomorrow and Tifa invites Cloud to gather some flowers from the mountain.

The neighborhood kids were hanging around the bottom of the water tower when Cloud walked home from his grocery errand, a paper bag in hand. They sat on the ground, their conversation fueled with energy and fervor. Cloud had half a mind to go around the other side, avoiding any unnecessary clash that would probably happen, but Tifa was there, sitting among the blocks of wood in her white dress and brown slippers. Her ebony hair hung loose down her back, swaying in the soft spring breeze coming down from the mountain. Before he knew it, his feet were already leading him there.

Snippets of conversation reached him as he neared. Cloud strained his ears, but all he could hear was something about a flower or a dinner, then an exploded oven and a ruined kitchen, followed by laughter. Hearty laughter from the stomach that shook their shoulders. Tifa was laughing too, though not as loud. She always laughed with them—laughing and smiling, as though she had all the time in the world. She never laughed with him.

_Just walk by them_ , he told himself. _Don’t make eye contact. Don’t—_

He glanced up right as Tifa’s dark crimson eyes fell on him. Then it all seemed to happen in a slow motion—her eyes widening around the edges, her feet jumping up as a hand shot to the sky, her small mouth spreading wide into a bright grin, forming the word:

“Cloud!”

Her voice rang loud and clear across the village center. The boys looked up. It only took a split second for his heart to race and his stomach to twist. 

Cloud averted his gaze and quickened his pace. Tifa kept calling him. “Leave him alone,” the boys in the distance said. He hoped she would. But Cloud could only make it halfway to his house when someone yanked his arm and pulled him to a stop. Tifa was glaring at him, her lips set into a pout.

“Are you ignoring me?”

“No, I—” His voice failed him, he’d forgotten what he was doing and where he was going. The place where her hand touched his elbow felt warm. Tifa huffed and let go of his arm. 

“Me and the others are going to look for gifts,” she said. “For Mother’s Day. It’s tomorrow?” Cloud only stared, prompting her scowl at his lack of response. “Did you forget?”

Of course not, was what he wanted to say, but how could he, when he had never celebrated Mother’s Day before.

“Anyway, wanna come? There’s this flower field a little up the mountain.”

He would. Cloud would go anywhere if Tifa asked him. But before he could form an answer, the boys behind them jeered, reminding him why he had never liked them in the first place.

“Come on, Tifa,” they said. “He doesn’t want to come.”

Three pairs of eyes glared at him from behind her shoulders, challenging him to say _yes_. And maybe he would, just to spite them, because it was Tifa who had asked him, and they had no business to say no. Tifa ignored the jeers and waited with a small smile on her face. Cloud was about to nod and say, “All right,” but then, a door opened somewhere behind him, and the unmistakable voice of his mother called his name. 

“Cloud! Honey, lunch is ready!”

He heard the snickers almost instantly. Cloud gritted his teeth as his face burned.

“I got to go,” he said, quiet. 

He turned around without looking at Tifa and hurried home. His mother stood by the door, smiling at something behind him—or someone, judging from the wave she was giving. Cloud muttered an inaudible _I’m home_ , ducking under her arm.

“Come over sometimes, Tifa!” he heard her say.

Cloud snapped his head up but his mother was still beaming and waving at the girl beyond the door.

“I will, Mrs. Strife!”

Tifa’s reply didn’t help. A bundle of energy packed into that one short sentence that buckled his knees and made the sky fall. That’s an idea. Have the cutest girl in the village come over to his house to—what? Play? He had nothing that would remotely interest a girl. Not that he could imagine playing with her without having jitters either. Or did his mother mean dinner? But that would mean inviting her entire family. They were neighbors and their mothers had exchanged pleasantries, but Cloud didn’t like the look Tifa’s father often gave him. Like dealing with a time bomb that could explode at any moment. Cloud brought the groceries to the kitchen table and pulled out bread and milk and cheese.

“What were you talking about?” his mother asked as she closed the door.

“Nothing,” Cloud said with a shrug. His mother moved beside him, sorting through the groceries and placing them in their respective places. Her eyes lingered on him for a few heartbeats. Cloud stifled a sigh. “They’re going someplace. She asked me to come with.”

“And?” his mother prompted when he didn’t continue. She reached over to place a sack of sugar in the cupboard.

“And what?”

“And what did you say?”

Cloud gave another noncommittal shrug. “You called.” He felt her stare and heard her intake of breath. Cloud didn't quite know what had warranted him a lecture, but he braced himself. He could already hear what his mother was going to say. That he should be nicer to Tifa, nicer to the other kids, to open up more and try to make friends. But the kettle whistled, breaking the silence.

His mother moved to turn off the stove. Cloud used the opportunity to fold the paper bag and quietly leave the room. But he had only taken a few steps when his mother spoke again.

“Lunch is ready. Could you bring some over to the Lockharts after you finish eating?”

“Why do I have to—” he began, half turning, but his mother’s stern gaze locked him in place.

“And make sure you make up with Tifa, all right?” she added with a hint of a grin.

* * *

Lunch was stew—his mother’s special stew. He loved the stew she made. Cloud had never had stew as delicious as his mother’s. And now he was walking over to the Lockhart’s, the two-story house beside his, carrying a tray with a lidded bowl in his hands.

The door opened as he reached their porch. Tifa’s mother stood there, her long dark hair tied in the village-custom ponytail. They said she was sick. In the rare chance Cloud spotted her in a village event, she would only sit and watch the merriment from the sides. But then she would cough, and her husband would usher her back inside. Tifa always looked sad whenever it happened. Now, Mrs. Lockhart’s usually dark, wearied eyes were bright, and they widened at the sight of him. The surprise only lasted for several seconds before her face broke into a small smile.

“What brings you here, Cloud?” she asked, her voice gentle and lilting.

Cloud held the tray out to her. “From my mom. She made a stew.”

Her smile softened, she accepted the tray with a thank you. Cloud mumbled an incoherent reply, straining his neck to see past her into the hall beyond. He had been inside a few times before whenever his mother brought them a dish or offered Tifa’s mother some help. She followed his line of sight, before chuckling under her breath.

“Tifa’s still out with her friends I think.”

Right. He knew that. Cloud ignored the rising heat creeping up his neck as he thanked Mrs. Lockhart with a small bow of his head before heading back to his home. But his mother was out, and he had finished his lunch. There was nothing to do, and as his footsteps faltered, Cloud found his gaze drawn to the path at the back of the village. It would lead him to the old abandoned manor and the mountain path beyond. He didn’t know where the flower field was, but if he just followed the path, he would eventually find it, right?

* * *

Wrong.

His soles stepped over gravel and dirt, one in front of the other, as Cloud climbed his way up the mountain path. The heat of the late spring sun beat him on his back. The path had been straightforward thus far but Cloud didn’t see any sign of a flower field at all. Had he even come to the right place? Had he missed a turn or a hidden path somewhere? But all he could see behind him was the downward trail of nothing but dirt and stone. The same thing up ahead. Maybe Tifa hadn’t even gone up the mountain.

In all his eight years of living in Nibelheim, Cloud rarely ever climbed the mountain. The adults said they shouldn’t. It was dangerous with rockfalls, ravines, and monsters. But even if he didn’t go far enough to encounter any of those, Cloud still preferred to stay away. Those boys often hung around at the base of the mountain.

People would have a better chance of finding him at the riverbank. He would play with his wooden stick, imagining himself a soldier at the front lines of the Wutai War. When the days were slow, the village men would occasionally come to fish. When they spotted him, they would call him over and ask him questions: why he was alone and what he was doing, so on and so forth. Sometimes they would teach him fishing tricks despite him never asking. Other times they would tell him stories—of cities made of metal in a continent across the sea, or ghosts from the abandoned manor roaming the night, or a pretty little flower field in an otherwise barren mountain.

Cloud stopped in his tracks. Voices reached him from ahead, and a moment later, three boys appeared around the corner. One, two, three—the group was missing one! He stepped into their path, cutting off whatever conversation they were having. The middle one, a tall and burly boy with a brown t-shirt and a cap, narrowed his eyes at him.

“What?”

Cloud set his teeth. “Where’s Tifa?”

They stared at him for several moments, before the middle boy nodded up the path. “Up there.”

The cliff face hugged them closely on both sides with tufts of grass here and there on the ground. The path curved to the left, hiding all the danger and monstrosity the mountain had to offer. _Up there_ didn’t explain where Tifa was. Cloud bristled.

“You left her?”

“Flowers are for sissies,” the left one said. The other two snickered in response.

“Then you shouldn’t have agreed in the first place.”

It wasn’t rare to see Cloud fighting with one of the boys. He always tried not to get into fistfights, but more often than not, Cloud would go home with a bruise or a split lip. Then his mother would see, and she would sigh as she took out the first-aid kit from the cabinet and dabbed a gauze dipped in alcohol to his wounds. “It’s their fault,” he would say, because it always—or more often—was. Just because they were bigger and older and stronger. Now the three of them surrounded him, puffing out their chests and making themselves taller, as though that was supposed to scare Cloud. 

“Where is it?” he asked.

“Where is what?”

“The flower field!”

They exchanged glances, then looked at Cloud with wolfish grins. “What, you wanna go after her?”

This was why Cloud hated them. Gritting his teeth and clenching his fists, Cloud pushed past them and ignored the hoots and taunts. Careful of the monsters, they said.

Let them come.

* * *

Cloud remembered what the man at the river had said. _At the first fork on the mountain path, hug the right side. A little way up, a little way down, the path would grow smaller and smaller until you reach a dead end. But it’s not a dead end. There was a path before rocks and boulders blocked it. Climb over and across it and you’ll find yourself in a pretty little clearing, with a spring bubbling up on one side and flowers blooming all around._

That was what Cloud found at the end of a long trek: a wall of rock reaching up to the sky with boulders stacked high on the narrow path across the rock face. 

_Aren’t you a smith?_ Cloud had asked. Why would a smith have known a secret flower field? It had earned him a soft smack on the head.

_Smiths seek ores and stuff, kid. The mountain’s basically my home._

So much for home. Either he didn’t know, or he didn’t tell, because Cloud highly doubted Tifa passed through here. There might even be more than one flower field up this mountain. Who was to know? He certainly didn’t, and there was no one else he could ask. There wasn’t even any guarantee that he’d find a flower field on the other side of this rock face. But his feet hurt and his chest heaved, so he put his hands and feet on the boulders and climbed.

Over and across, Cloud landed on the ground beyond with a thud. His practice with his wooden sword proved useful as the calluses had hardened his hands and made the climb easier. He swayed on his feet when he stood, his hand shooting out to the wall to steady himself. Undergrowth rustled at a shuffling of feet. A moment later, Tifa appeared at the end of the tunnel, still in her cream-white dress and brown slippers. Her hair swayed in a breeze he didn’t feel, her eyes widening at the sight of him.

“Cloud?”

Cloud’s sigh of relief was short-lived. He felt stupid now, for coming all this way and climbing a rock wall, when the girl in front of him didn’t even look like she had fought through dirt and stone.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Tifa said.

“I never said I wouldn’t,” he mumbled after he had exited the narrow path into what appeared to be a clearing on the mountainside, with the rock wall on one side and close-knitted trees on the others. Water trickled down into a small bubbling spring, and a vast canopy of leaves shielded them from the harsh glare of the sun. After the long trek with the hot golden disc beating down on his back, the shade was a pleasant find. They swayed in the afternoon breeze, cool against the sweat on his brow.

Tifa stared at him, tilting her head to one side. Cloud didn’t care to elaborate and instead asked, “Did you come from there?” He nodded toward the path he had taken.

Tifa shook her head. “No. I came from there.” She pointed to one side, where a gap between the trees revealed a path through the forest. The foliage was as thick there as it was in the clearing, breaking the sunlight into a crisscrossing pattern across the forest floor. “It leads down the mountain,” she went on. “But there’s a path leading back to the path behind the village. You take the left road at the fork.”

Cloud wished the smith had told him that.

“So, you’ll give your mom flowers?”

“What?”

“Flowers.” She drew his attention to the small white flowers between her arms. “That’s why you came, right? The flower field.”

Tifa stepped back to give him a full view of the flowers blooming all around. They dotted the clearing in clusters of reds and whites and purples. Cloud recognized the scent, something he had associated with his mother and his house once upon a time.

“Poppies,” Tifa explained. Her smile turned wistful as she looked at the flowers in her hands. “The healer said they could help Mom.”

If Tifa had wanted to get any flowers, she could have gone to easier places. His secret spot by the riverbank had a cluster of flowers growing here and there at this time of year. A little off to the side right outside the village was also a field with blue flowers. If they knew where to go and what to look for, they could avoid any monsters attacking them. At least, that was what the smith-master had told him.

“Well, feel free to pick some.”

He watched her walk to the spring where she left her basket already half-filled with flowers. She crouched down, placed the white flowers inside, then picked up the red ones blossoming nearby. Cloud stared for several more moments before moving over to another patch of purple and pink and plucked them by the stems.

Poppies. Cloud never knew the name, but he remembered seeing them in a vase at home. Every time he sat on the dining table, the flowers would enter his line of sight, positioned in front of a window overlooking the mountain. It received a lot of sunlight in the afternoon.

He brought his forage to Tifa’s basket and dropped them all inside. Tifa looked at him, confused.

“I thought you’re bringing them for your mom,” she said.

“I am,” he said, and left it at that. 

Time passed and before they knew it, the lights had gotten dim. Tifa had filled her basket to the brim while Cloud had gathered an assortment of reds and purples and pinks. Not a lot, but he hoped his mother would love it.

“Here.” Tifa offered her basket. “I’ll give you yours when we’re back at the village.”

The forest had gotten dark. The sky was still a blazing deep orange, but the thick foliage blocked what little sunlight the sky offered. The air had gotten several degrees colder and Cloud noticed Tifa shivering. Her one-piece dress didn’t cover her arms.

“ _Ah!_ ” Tifa stumbled on her feet, her leg tripping over an upturned root. Cloud’s hand shot out and grabbed her arm. Tifa murmured a _thank you_ as she gingerly stepped over the root. Cloud only gave a wordless grunt, but he kept his hand firmly locked around her arm as they made their way through the dark forest.

“You remember the way, right?” he asked.

“I do, but it’s a bit hard to see.”

A wolf howled in the distance, making the two of them jump. Tifa clutched onto his arm, nails digging into his skin, as Cloud’s back stiffened, his eyes flitting in search for the source or something to ward it off. _Stay away from the mountains,_ the village’s warning blared in his mind, _especially at night. Monsters and beasts roamed the grounds_. What would he give to have his wooden stick with him now?

“Come on, Tifa.” Cloud’s voice was almost a whisper in the eerie silence. Not even the sound of a bird or a cricket, as though all critters knew what dangers the night brought. He kept a firm hold on Tifa’s hand. “I’ll protect you.”

* * *

Dusk had fallen by the time they reached the fork. The waning moon hung low in a purple-indigo sky, the first of the stars blinking into view. Cloud still had his hand over Tifa’s, a firm hold she reciprocated, as the two of them fumbled in the dark. Tifa had slowly regained her courage after they found a familiar well-trodden path and a low-hanging branch. The dark had felt friendlier there, according to Tifa, and they had groped for tree trunks and branches, keeping their legs off any treacherous roots on the ground, until finally, they found a break in the trees.

Torches lit the path once they neared the village, more fires bobbing in a cluster up ahead. Cloud and Tifa shared a glance, their faces smudged with dirt and covered in sweat. Their clothes were dirty, and Cloud could see a few shallow cuts on Tifa’s arms from when the branches had caught her. Despite that, the two of them grinned.

“ _Cloud!_ ”

It was more like a scream than a call, ear-splitting and raw. It jerked him to a stop. He looked up just as his mother broke away from the group of adults huddling together with torches held above their heads. She had a stricken look on her face as she ran towards him. Every head, every pair of eyes behind her turned. At the center was Tifa’s father, his stern lines giving way to relief at the sight of Tifa.

Cloud had only let Tifa’s hand go before his mother enveloped him in a bone-crunching hug. A moment later, Brian Lockhart fell to his knees beside them, pulling his daughter into his arms.

“Where _were_ you!?” he said after he let her go. Tifa opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, her father had looked up and directed his ire at Cloud. “You brought her there, didn’t you!?”

Cloud froze. Whatever excuse or explanation he had had in his mind vanished. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t speak. His mouth had gone numb as his fingers went cold, trying and failing to stammer any sort of response that would appease Brian Lockhart.

His mother shuddered a breath before unwinding her arms from around him. She got to her feet. “Now, Brian—” she began but couldn’t get far, because Tifa had shaken herself off her father and now stood in front of Cloud, arms stretched on either side. 

“Dad! Don’t get mad at Cloud!” she yelled, crimson eyes blazing under the torches. Her father, and all the other adults, fell silent. “He came after me, okay? I wanted to pick flowers on the mountain. For Mother’s Day. The others left me. Cloud came after me. Here!”

She held up her basket, not filled to the brim anymore. Some of the flowers had fallen off. A murmur swept through the adults and Cloud spotted several nodding heads, but Brian Lockhart still had a frown on his face.

“What’s important is that our kids are safe, Brian,” his mother said, her voice unusually quiet. She had her hand in front of Cloud.

It took another moment for Brian to sigh and nod. “All right.” He looked at Tifa and Cloud saw a rare hint of a smile on his face. “I’m just glad you’re safe.” He stood up and held his hand out to his daughter. “Let’s go. Your mother’s worried sick.” Tifa nodded and grabbed her father’s hand. Then Brian shifted his gaze back at Cloud.

“And you.” It wasn’t loud, and he didn’t sound angry. Brian’s voice was deep and rumbling, like the rumbles Cloud would sometimes hear every time he pressed his ear to the ground. Cloud jerked to attention. “Don’t make your mother worry so much.” 

Cloud watched them leave, and the crowd slowly dispersed. They stayed there, his mother’s hand on his shoulder. Worry? Was his mother worried? It would make more for sense to say his mother was angry. Because his mother was rarely ever quiet. Yet now, there was only silence, and the silence was deafening.

“Mom?”

“Hm?”

At least his mother was talking to him. He mustered his courage and asked, “Are you angry?”

A pause, then his mother looked down; and no, it wasn’t anger that he saw. It was a mixture of emotions that Cloud couldn’t even begin to identify, only that it made his heart clench tight. She crouched in front of him, hands squeezing his arms.

“No, I’m not angry,” she said. Her voice was soft, somewhat deflated. The tension he had felt in her bone-crunching hug was gone. She brushed her hand against his hair, then at the smudge of dirt on his cheek. “I’m just worried.”

“Worried?” 

His mother laughed. “Am I not allowed to worry?” she asked. “You went off somewhere without telling me and no one knew where you’d gone. A parent _would_ worry about their child.”

“I’m sorry.” Cloud cast his eyes down. “You told me to make up with Tifa so—”

“I know.” His mother smiled the softest smile. “Just… tell me whenever you’re going somewhere, all right?” Cloud nodded. She cupped his cheeks and gave a quick peck to his forehead. Then she stood up and held out a hand. “Come on. Let’s go home. You need a bath.”

They had almost reached their door when the house beside theirs burst open. Tifa emerged, rushing out the door with her feet still half outside her slippers, the flower basket swinging in her hand. She stopped a little past her yard, eyes searching the village center and the path to the mountain.

When his mother called her name, Tifa whipped her head around. Her lips broke into a huge grin at the sight of them. Cloud involuntarily stepped back, bracing himself for that rush of energy to hit him. When she did, panting, he stared as she held out her basket.

“Here,” she said, scooping a handful of red and purple flowers and holding them out to him. “Yours, right?” She gave him an armful of the small flowers, her toothy smile reaching her eyes. “Thanks for coming after me, Cloud,” she added, and with a final bow to his mother, Tifa rushed back to her own house. She looked back, once, and gave him a final energetic wave before disappearing behind the door. Cloud only then realized that the flowers in his arms were more than his share.

“Poppies,” his mother mused. He looked up to find his mother looking back, a small wistful smile grazing her lips. “I guess you found that clearing with the spring?”

Cloud stared, perplexed. “You know it?”

“Of course,” his mother said with a quiet laugh. “Your father used to take me there all the time. Remember the flowers we used to have? Those were poppies. Your father found them there.”

Cloud blinked, then stared at the small red and purple flowers in his hands. What were the odds? He looked up at his mother again and smiled, hugging the rest of them close as he held up one stem of red poppy to his mother.

“Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.”

Cloud’s mother stared at him for a silent moment before a laugh broke out of her, the kind that came from her stomach and shook her shoulders. She took the flower from his hand and pulled him into a hug, giving his cheek a quick kiss.

“Thanks, dear.”

**~ END ~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it :) Please leave kudos/comments if you find the fic to your liking! Thank you^^


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